


The Witch and the Wanderer

by rowenablade



Series: MCU Kink Bingo Fills [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Comfort/Angst, Cunnilingus, Dubcon Cuddling, F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kind of a lesbian super-powered fix-it of the myth of Eros and Psyche, MCU Kink Bingo, My unofficial title for this series is "I try to write porn and do it wrong", Religious Guilt, Sleep Paralysis, Succubus Natasha Romanov, Telepathic Sex, Touch-Starved Wanda Maximoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenablade/pseuds/rowenablade
Summary: Who are you?Wanda thought as the vision cleared. The Devil would not have memories of being a little girl, and Wanda had breathed the cold and smelled the blood and felt the hilt of the dagger in her hand too clearly for what she had seen to be anything but a memory.“My name was Natasha.” The voice in her ear was soft, sad. “You can call me that, if you want.”
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Series: MCU Kink Bingo Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887520
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 5





	The Witch and the Wanderer

Wanda knew her powers came from the Devil. Her parents had told her as much, when they’d sent her to live at the convent.

_We’d have the village elders burn you as a witch_ , her father had said, _if it would not break your brother’s heart. If you’ve any gratitude to Pietro for your sinful existence, you will do him the good of forgetting him. As we shall be forgetting you._

She wanted to be good, more than anything, but she could not make herself forget her brother. And she could not make her powers go away, no matter how hard she tried.

If she told the sisters at the convent of her visions, she would be punished, so she stopped speaking of them. When people touched her, she could see into their minds, and so she stopped touching people. When she wanted something badly, she could make red light bloom from her fingers, or move things with only her mind, so she stopped wanting anything beyond salvation. 

The sisters told her to pray, and so Wanda prayed. Every day at the altar on her knees, and every night as she lay upon her wooden pallet. 

She prayed to be good, and for an end to her loneliness, and to see her brother again. She did not know at what point she realized what she was praying for was death, but when she understood it, her prayers did not change at all.

One night, as she cried herself to sleep in the tiny cell that served her as a bedchamber, a voice spoke in the darkness. It was a woman’s voice, young and rough and faintly smoky.

“Sweet girl, there’s no need to cry.”

Wanda tried to sit up, to look around the room to see who had spoken, but found she could not move. It was as if her limbs were made of stone.

_The Devil,_ she thought, her heart turning to ice. _He’s come for me, at last. My prayers were for nothing._

“No, _kroshka_ , I’m not the Devil,” said the mysterious voice. “I’m here because I heard your prayers, and want to help.”

She could not speak, and yet this stranger had heard her thoughts. The same way Wanda heard things sometimes, for all she did not want to.

_You are like me,_ she thought. 

“I was, once,” the woman answered. “A slave, like you. But I’m not a slave anymore.”

There was a sense of warmth at Wanda’s back as the stranger joined her on her pallet. She felt the woolen blanket over her shift, and then a slender pair of arms was wrapping around her waist. She was pulled back against a soft figure, cool breath that smelled of rain sighing against her neck.

A vision, then, of a room so large it could be nowhere but the great hall of a palace. The walls were the color of raw liver. A girl with fiery copper hair stood in the center of the room, and at her feet a man bled cherry-red from his throat, onto the flagstones. 

_Who are you?_ she thought as the vision cleared. The Devil would not have memories of being a little girl, and Wanda had breathed the cold and smelled the blood and felt the hilt of the dagger in her hand too clearly for what she had seen to be anything but a memory.

“My name was Natasha.” The voice in her ear was soft, sad. “You can call me that, if you want.”

Still unable to move, Wanda drifted in the darkness as her body heat mingled with that of the stranger’s. She should be more frightened, she knew, but it had been so long since anyone had touched her. 

_Are you here to kill me, Natasha?_ She knew this girl had killed before. She had seen it in her mind.

“No.” 

_Then why are you here?_

“I heard your prayers,” the woman repeated. “You’ve been so lonely.”

_If you mean me no harm, why can’t I move?_

“I’m sorry.” A soft kiss on her ear. “It’s not something I can control. Would you like me to let go of you?”

Wanda thought about it. It was a cold night. It was always cold at night, for her.

_No._

The strange woman sighed contentedly into Wanda’s hair, and pulled her closer.

Wanda closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, dawn was turning the walls from black to grey, and she was alone.

——

Natasha returned to her the next night. She slipped in under Wanda’s blanket and held her once more. Her skin smelled of pine and iron.

_Are you a witch?_ Wanda asked her, as red smoke drifted in the space behind her eyelids. _Is that how you can sneak into the convent?_

“I’m not a witch,” Natasha answered. 

She kissed the back of Wanda’s neck, and shared with her a memory of children playing in the snow. The sweet sound of laughter chased Wanda into her dreams, and she woke up with a smile on her face for the first time since she could remember.

_Are you an angel?_ she asked the next night.

At this Natasha only laughed. She lay with Wanda face to face this time, and kissed her delicately upon the nose.

“Why not ask the sisters what I am?” she asked.

Wanda hesitated before answering, afraid of admitting it even though she could not speak it out loud.

_Because I fear they will tell me you’re an evil thing, and make me pray for you to never return._

“And you don’t want that?”

In her mind, a lifetime of cold and lonely nights stretched before her. A lifetime of prayers unanswered, of visions unshared. A life in which she never heard laughter, or tasted a kiss, or felt joy ever again.

_No. I do not want that._

Natasha kissed her lips, and Wanda tasted her memory of a pastry filled with brandied cherries. The taste lingered when she woke up, and she said nothing of it to the sisters.

——

_Can I see you?_ she asked Natasha one night.

For a long time, there was silence. Wanda feared she had made her strange companion angry, but her touch remained gentle, and when she spoke it was in the same soft, smoky voice she always used.

“You might not like what you see, _kroshka._ ”

_Please_ , Wanda thought. _I promise I will not be upset. You are the only sweet thing in my life. I don’t care what you look like._

More silence, and then a whisper that was heavy with what sounded like regret.

“You’ve always been able to see me when you wanted to, Wanda.”

_I cannot light the candles if I cannot move._

“You don’t need the candles.”

A cold finger touched Wanda’s heart.

_No,_ she thought. _I mustn’t. It isn’t natural, to create light with no flame, or to move things without touching them._

“No,” Natasha agreed. “It’s not. But you are better than natural, sweet girl.”

Shuddering, Wanda reached into that well of power beneath her heart. She realized now it had always been within her grasp. She could not move her body, but she could move the world around her. She’d never been helpless in Natasha’s embrace, only too afraid to be anything else.

A red glow began to illuminate the room, revealing Natasha to her for the first time.

The first thing Wanda noticed was that she was achingly beautiful. Huge almond eyes, full lips, rich red curls framing a face made for paintings or marble statues. Not a face one saw in the real world. If Natasha had been a mortal woman, she would have been a queen. Men would have killed one another to pledge their kingdoms to her.

But Natasha was not a mortal woman. Tears welled up in Wanda’s eyes as she took in the black horns that curled up from Natasha’s head, the inky black wings, leathery like a bat’s, that lay along her back.

_You lied to me._ In her mind, Wanda’s voice was steadfast and strong, but still Natasha would be able to see the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

“I did not lie,” Natasha said sadly. “You asked if I was the Devil. I am not the Devil, _kroshka_. I was a girl once. I’m not a girl anymore.”

_What are you?_ Wanda demanded. _Tell me the truth, or I’ll kill you._

It was not an idle threat. Wanda could feel the power within her swell and pulse. She could shape it into a blade, if she wanted. She could unleash it as a storm.

She thought she might be able to reduce the convent to rubble, if she wanted it badly enough.

“I do not know the name for my kind,” Natasha whispered. “The people who turned me into this thing did not tell me, and they are all dead now. Only those on the edge of sleep can see me, and they cannot move when I approach them. You are the first person I have spoken to since I changed.”

_I don’t understand. Who did this to you?_

“The same people who taught me how to kill. I didn’t want to become this thing, but they said I was of more use to them as a monster than as a girl.”

_They made you into a demon so you could kill for them?_

“That was their plan.” Natasha’s eyes grew hard. “But they didn’t understand what they had done. As I said, they are all dead now. And I have been alone.”

With few other options, Wanda stared. She was startled by how young Natasha looked, no hint of line or wrinkle on her pale face. How sad her eyes were. 

“Do you want me to go?” Natasha asked.

_No._ Still, her tears flowed.

“Do you want to kill me? I understand if you do.”

_I do not want to kill you._

“Then what do you want, Wanda? Ask anything of me, and I’ll grant it if I can.”

_I want life not to hurt anymore,_ she wailed deep inside her mind. _Is that so much to ask?_

A soft kiss. Wanda tasted loneliness.

“It might be, sweet girl. But I can try to make it hurt less. Will you let me try?”

Wanda gave her consent with the image of a door flying open, and Natasha flowed into her like a summer breeze.

Unable to move, Wanda could only accept what Natasha gave her. Light kisses became deep, questing ones. Natasha moved over her, pulling her sleeping shift over her head, arranging her arms and legs like she was a doll and kissing along her body. Wanda responded to this with images of sunlight flashing along water, of flowers in bloom, or simply with the words _Yes, please, more,_ when Natasha hesitated. And bit by bit, the strange woman grew bolder.

When Natasha bent her head to kiss Wanda between her legs, Wanda could only answer with a brilliant flash of white light that filled the inside of her head like a nova. Red tendrils began to creep across that light as Natasha opened her with her tongue, red swirls that danced and swayed and were shaped by her pleasure. She saw Natasha’s face in her mind, and let Natasha see herself as Wanda saw her. How beloved her face was, how magnificent her wings, how clever and graceful her body.

_You’re so beautiful,_ Wanda told her as Natasha moaned against her sensitive flesh. _So, so beautiful._

When her ecstasy reached its peak, the room glowed bright enough to hurt her eyes. Then it slowly faded, until they were in perfect darkness once more.

Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda in the dark and held her close.

_Can you stay?_ Wanda thought, fearing she already knew the answer.

“Not while the sun is up,” Natasha said. “But I can always find you at the edge of sleep, _kroshka,_ if you want to be found.”

Wanda smiled inside her mind, and fell asleep in her cell for the last time.

——

Wanda disappeared from the convent, and none of the sisters could deny they were relieved. Such a strange, sad girl, she’d been, and they had all been afraid of her powers.

When rumors began to spread in the nearby villages of a witch who lived in the woods, a pale woman with long auburn hair and green eyes, who could read minds and move things without touching them, the village elders recommended people stay out of the woods.

Some sought her out anyway, and if they tried to approach her cottage during the day they would find themselves back at the edge of the woods where they’d started, despite making no turns and sticking to the same well-worn path.

If they approached at night, sometimes they could get close enough to the cottage to hear a woman’s voice, laughing or sighing or whispering tender words. But if they tried to cross the threshold or climb over the windowsill, they were chased back into the woods by scarlet will-o-the-wisps and the sound of great flapping wings. 

One day these rumors reached the ears of a young man named Pietro. He listened to them with a faint smile on his face, and remembered his lost sister, and hoped that wherever she was, she was happy.

Wanda felt her brother smile, deep in the part of her soul where she had never forgotten him. She may not see him again, and she still didn’t know if she was good, but she was not lonely anymore.

The moon was rising over the treetops. Wanda blew out her candles, laid down in her soft, wide bed, and waited for her true love to join her.


End file.
